


Work in Progress

by RaisonRoux



Category: Original Work, Silence (2016)
Genre: Adam Driver - Freeform, Alternate Universe, F/M, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Religious Discussion, Self-Discovery, Sexual Assault, World Travel, will update as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29203425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisonRoux/pseuds/RaisonRoux
Summary: "Life was simple for you, easy in fact. A year away from gradating, you dream of your future life as a successful doctor with a handsome husband. Everything was in reach, until it wasn't. You did everything according to the plan, and expected life would reward you. That's how it works, right? Well, perhaps not. Maybe life just throws all your dreams and expectations off a cliff and leaves you dumbfounded. After everything falls apart at home, a beloved professor encourages you to study abroad - Italy. As you resolve the tatters of your former life, you push yourself to explore - finding the good around you. You meet a charming photographer, a brillant friend, and an unexpected confidant."Just like John Malkovich, I am placing you, the reader, inside my brain, to share this part lived experience part fictional embellishment. This work shares the growth of a woman (MC/reader) through grief, travel, assault, friendship, loneliness, love, religion, and more. More details of this work can be found in the preface (ch.1)And yes... I am fully aware of how much my title sucks. Titles are hard. (* Update - changed the title from Consecrated Cacophony.)Also - still refining posts here and there with small edits.
Relationships: Francisco Garupe/Original Female Character(s), Francisco Garupe/Reader, Francisco Garupe/You, You/Original Character





	1. Preface

Preface:

Well, you found me. Honestly, not sure how – but welcome! This is my first post on this site and it isn’t one of the Trifecta of Fanfiction (Harry Potter, Avengers, Star Wars). There are numerous incredible stories that tackle those cannons, and I am daily amazed by the talent I see on this site. This story has no magic, no superpowers, and no space – it’s just humans trying to endure life. 

Perhaps you found me due to the (Silence 2016) tag because you’re an Adam Driver fan (I mean who isn’t? He’s amazing). I added this tag because I wanted a character that any reader could envision in their mind – an instantly recognizable face. Adam possess a charisma that can equally emit a playful charm as well as a somber quietness. This was important for my character as he tackles his own feelings with the challenges life throws at him.

This story is my own. Many of the conversations, actions, and reflections are taken from my own history. It is a time in my life I don’t talk about, but this work gave me the chance to take all those jagged memories and wrap them in the plush comfort of fiction.

Just like John Malkovich, I am placing you, the reader, inside my brain, to share this part lived experience part fictional embellishment. This work shares the growth of a woman (MC) through grief, travel, assault, friendship, loneliness, love, religion, and more. 

This story is fairly tame but has mature themes at times, and a potentially explicit one later (depending on how much I bear to share). I will make sure to keep you updated beforehand.

If none of the above terms turned you off and you are still reading… Wonderful! You are the exactly the type of reader with which I want to share this story. I will be using the Your Name (Y/N) motif, but I still may make references to my appearance. Feel free to exchange your own, or pretend you’re a redheaded woman in your early 20’s. If that’s the case, then apply the spf 100 to that freckled skin and join me in this adventure abroad.

Cheers,  
RaisonRoux


	2. Leaving on a Jet Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: description of loss and blood.
> 
> I am throwing you right into the middle of the story, but I will try to paint a clear picture.
> 
> Updated on 2/5/21

I glanced up again at the clock. Exactly 20 seconds had passed since the last time I looked. _Where was everyone?_  
After two hours of waiting, I figured at least a few more people would have shown up. Looking back down at my boarding pass I reconfirmed my gate with the empty one I currently sat in. I was alone aside from two posh women taking glamorous selfies by the large window. I took out my phone again and scrolled through the texts my family sent wishing me a safe trip. I ignored the inner hesitation to scroll further and opened a conversation from last spring:

> **Tommy: “Hey, you free? There is something I want to ask you.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “Oh yeah? A good thing I hope.”  
> 
> 
> **Tommy: “I think so. I think you will too. Let’s take a drive.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “I’m in the zone with internship prep. Can it wait till tonight? Maybe after 6?”  
> 
> 
> **Tommy: “I will pick you up at 6:30.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “😊. Can’t wait Tommy.”  
> 
> 
> **Tommy: “It’s Tom. Got a big boy job now. Tom is more professional.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “But your name is Thomas...".  
> 
> 
> **Tommy: “I'm older...not 80. Thomas is my dad's name. It would be weird.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: "Tom is weird. It's a fine name, it just doesn't suit you. Tommy is the guy I met with the puka shell necklace on raft trip 3 years ago...not Tom."
> 
> **Tommy: “Doesn't mean I can't rock at tan at the office. I'm still me.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “I know and I'll adjust...but the mental reset to rename all my memories of you will take some time ”  
> 
> 
> **Tommy: “I get it, but tonight will make it worth the effort.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “I’ve heard ice cream helps build neuropathways.”  
> 
> 
> **Tommy: “Then I will be at your house at 6:30 WITH ice cream.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “Butter Pecan please.”  
> 
> 
> **Tommy: “Gross. Pick a better flavor.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “No, that’s what I like.”  
> 
> 
> **Tommy: “Lame.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “I think your phone accidently autocorrected the word lovely.”  
> 
> 
> **Tommy: “You're ridiculous. See you tonight.”**  
> 
> 
> Me: “Bye.”

My hands started to shake as a tear rolled down my cheek. _“Shit, Y/N. Now is not the time. Get it together, girl.”_ I whispered under my breath. I looked back again at the clock and then at my still empty surroundings. Something was wrong. Something must have changed. My nerves took ahold of me as I stood, searching for the nearest departure screen. The sleek minimalism of this German airport made it difficult to concentrate – everyone else knew what was going on, why was I struggling? I took a step as the loudspeaker came on, first in German and then in English:  


“Last call for Milan at Gate B30.”  


“Oh no, that’s me!” I exclaimed aloud, much to the hilarity of the two blonde women nearby. They openly laughed at me as I scrambled to gather my belongings while frantically looking around to find the way to the gate.  


“Bon Voyage Tourist!” one mocked in a German accent as I passed by.  


Feeling small and silly under their judgmental gaze, I tried to quicken my steps despite the burden of a giant, overstuffed backpack and purse weighing me down. I sighed when I realized the correct gate was in the same terminal. However, the relief I found upon entering the gate was over in an instant.  


“You are very late,” said the stern woman checking tickets. Her eyes glared at me, continuing to narrow with each step forward.  
“I know. I’m sorry. The gate changed and…” I stopped myself. The annoyed woman clearly wasn’t interested in my explanation as she huffed and waved me on. “Thank you!” I said, still trying to maintain my manners. Shaking her head, she shut the door behind me as I scurried down the empty tunnel to the tiny jet.  


Once aboard, I ignored the irritated glowers of the other passengers and slumped into my seat. My exasperated huffs and futile attempts at shoving my large carry-ons under the chair seemed to echo through the oddly silent plane. It was becoming more and more evident that this new life abroad was going to be just as inhospitable as my last one. I tried to settle down, but this was starting to feel like a mistake. Calming breaths were not helping and I couldn’t help but feel like I was leaving something behind. No matter how many things I mentally checked off my list, I still felt completely unprepared. Opening my journal, I hoped writing would release the tension.  


_Everyone told me this was the right thing to do. Go see the world! Start Fresh! Try new things! Such beautiful sentiments should be easy, yes? Then why does everything about this semester abroad feel so difficult? The burden of moving forward at home was tolerable, but now with the added pressure of knowing nothing, knowing nobody - the way forward feels insurmountable. I feel like the world’s worst fraud trying on a new, happy life. The only thing I seem to be successful at right now is annoying strangers._  


Looking out the window I took in the splendor of the mountains below me. My gaze narrowed as I tried with all my might to be in the moment, enjoy this time where nothing was needed from me. I could just sit and disappear. For a better person this moment would be peaceful, but alas it only reminded me of all the things I needed to do once I landed. Nervousness once again wracking my body, I opened an email on my phone with the itinerary.  


> Hi Y/N,  
> 
> 
> Thanks for sending me your arrival time. I will be in Milan for the weekend with a few friends. I told them all about my RA from back home and all the funny impersonations you do. Especially that fussy old lady one! LOL. They are looking forward to meeting you, so I hope your feeling funny! Below is the address for the train station. We will meet you there around 7pm. It’s just over an hour to Verona, so it will give us some time to catch up.  
>  See you soon!  
> 
> 
> Maddy

So much to catch up on. It had been over a year since seeing Maddy. Her year abroad was now rolling into another one. Her life in Italy was one worthy of Instagram, a complete transition from her angst-ridden life back in Colorado. Everything back at college frustrated her. The rules. The deadlines. The monotony. It showed in her art. Brooding black and gray portraits of distorted figures, frozen in agony.

“Artists need a muse and I have squeezed this town dry. It has nothing left to offer me,” she told me when I asked why she was going abroad. And sure enough, the ancient city of love changed her. Her paintings were filled with color, movement, and best of all – pleasure. I clung to the small hope that the city would do the same for me. I was frozen in a state of pain for months. My brain was suddenly flooded with memories:

> _The car ride on a county road. Eating ice cream as the sun set in the sky and darkness enveloped the cabin. Watching in awe as Tommy's strong handsome face was illuminated by the passing cars. Clutching his hand as he told me how he envisioned the future - and me in that future. They were the exact words I had been waiting years for him to say. Then the moment he asked me to move with him to Chicago. The tingle down my spine as I considered how much my life could change if I said yes… followed by the pain of saying no. Not yet. Not now. Watching the sadness on his face when he realized I was serious. Deciding to pull to the side of the road to talk face to face.  
>  Then, the sudden impact as the semi behind us failed to see the turn signal, clipping the back of his truck. The endless spinning. The pain of coming to, alone in the upturned car, blood clouding my vision. Screaming for him. Strangers pulling me out, shielding me from the commotion on the road.  
>  Begging, so much begging. “Please let me see him! Please God, not yet. Please God. Please.” But God, nor the strangers answered me. The shadowed figures solely focused on sending me to the hospital. The scar above my ear, the plate bolted onto my collarbone, and the constant ringing in my left ear are relentless reminders of that night. The night only one of us made it out alive. But those physical pains are nothing compared to the survivor’s guilt that anchored itself deep in my heart. The guilt of saying no, disappointing him in his last moment alive. It pulled against every limb, every thought – dragging me down, deeper into sadness. Every action felt impossible, taking an exhaustive amount of effort. _

“Therapy will help,” said my mother, but I never felt like talking. It was still too soon and I didn’t have words for it yet. The therapist tried to pass the time in other ways... so I never returned.

“School will help,” my father determined. He was partly right. School by that point was muscle memory and I managed to graduate (my pre-accident GPA narrowly helping me across the finish line). However, once that chapter ended I felt lost all over again. I was a depressed 23 year old with a biology degree and a newfound fear of blood. I was doomed. As my efforts to move on kept failing, the more those around me made plans for me, plans to get me back to normal. I was too tired to fight them and went wherever they sent me. Italy for my masters degree was the last resort, a recommendation from a Professor. Her memories of touring Europe with her choir, meeting her husband in Venice... were comforting stories I clung to as we caught up over coffee each month. 

But now that I was here, on the cusp of this life changing trip, I felt immense pressure to “heal". I worried that if I didn’t come home a whole person I would fail.

I was now crying and my loud sniffles carried through the aisles of the small plane. Rising to collect myself in the restroom, I felt a gentle hand push me back into my chair.  


“We are starting to descend. I will need you to take your seat,” the flight attendant smiled apologetically as she handed me a small water and some tissues.  


“Thank you,” I responded, attempting to gulp down the last of my tears. Pressing my throbbing head into in the headrest, I closed my eyes and felt each downward angle of the decent into my new life.


	3. Train Station

There is a reason tourists go to Europe in the summer. Sunny skies and gentle breezes beckon crowds of visitors as they seek new adventures in ancient cities. But it wasn’t the summer, it was January. The city was not only quiet but cold, damp, and gray as well. As I sat on the Malpensa express train to Milano Centrale, I still found myself marveling at the architecture that flashed through the windows. So different than Colorado. Once outside of the train station, I stood in awe at the La Mela Reintegrata. The giant apple statue, a patch mending it's bitten wound, seemed familiar; like a good omen. I stopped to take a picture with my phone, while hoping that I too could be restored.  


Once inside the cathedral like building, I found a empty corner to stand in and collect myself. Feeling stifled by my puffy coat, I draped it across my bag and stretched my arms with a yawn. I was exhausted, but I couldn't bear to sit any longer. Milling about my giant bag, I tried to covertly people watch. I smiled as I observed friends reunite. I marveled at the young, chic strangers walking confidently to their next destination. Even the family with the screaming toddler from the airport were more at ease. The worn out child was now strewn across the father’s arms, gently sleeping. I watched from a distance as two young priests talked passionately while in line for coffee. The taller one of the two, whose back was towards me, talked emphatically with his hands and I wished I was closer to eavesdrop. As the shorter man kept shaking his head in disagreement, the other turned slightly and I could see his smiling profile, his once wayward arm resting on his collogue's shoulder. It was obvious these two were close, sharing a friendly conversation. My hand touched my face, and I realized I too was smiling. Contemplative conversations in common places have always been one of my favorite things about life.  


I looked up at the large clock to see that I still had thirty minutes before my train departed. Finally giving in to sit on the floor, I instinctively scrolled through my phone - this time landing on Maddy’s Instagram. She cut her hair since moving here. A black, modern, pixie cut highlighted the strong angles in her face. Her tanned body posing perfectly, making even the simplest white t-shirt and jeans look high fashion. With a sigh, I inspected my own wardrobe. My chunky boots (still speckled with the dirt of home), old hiking pants, and plain burgundy zip up were all commonplace when I began this journey hours ago, but now I looked ridiculous. I was prepared to climb a mountain, not wait in the world’s most fashionable city.  


As I scrolled deeper into her feed, witnessing the metamorphosis in reverse, I thought I could almost feel a flicker of excitement inside me. _This could be me. I could be this carefree...happy._ Shaking my head, I laughed at myself as I thought, _Improbable, but at least the cool haircut is doable._

"Y/N! You’re here! You are finally here,” exclaimed Maddy approaching, pulling me into a hug. Her loud welcome turned a few faces in our direction, two of which being the priests who sat on the other side of the room. My cheeks instantly flushed with embarrassment, but I settled into the hug, grateful to finally see someone I knew. 

"Hi Maddy, I -"

“Hold that thought, we gotta board," she said cutting me off. "Hurry, follow me."  


I dutifully obeyed and followed her onto the train, ticket screen ready in hand. With my luggage stowed, I sat down next to her, watching her scroll through what appeared to be multiples of the same picture on her phone. She examined dozens of photos of her posing in front of the apple. My brow furrowed as I wondered how long she was outside the station before she met me. As I waited, I noticed the two priests I watched earlier make their way to their seats. I couldn't help but feel like I had shared a moment with them earlier as the unknown third party in their conversation. Impulsively, I smiled as they walked past. Still fixated in their conversation, they didn’t notice. The way the taller one spoke, so calm and deep, was a pleasant surprise and I turned my ear to hear more of what he had to say in that brief moment.  


Within that same second Maddy grabbed my arm, “What do you think? This filter _OR_ …. This one?” She flashed the two options at me over and over again, reminiscent of an optometrist. And just like at the eye doctor, my response was the same, “I don’t see a difference.”

Maddy hummed in annoyance with my answer and focused her attention back on the screen. For the next thirty minutes, I again stared out the window waiting for the chance to talk. I sighed, perhaps a bit too loud.

“Okay, okay. Give me just a second… THERE! Posted!” Her body shifted to face me, “Now you! You are going to love it here. After the first month, you’re going to forget everything back home. There is something about Italy that changes a person.”  


“That would be… great.” I said. I tried so hard to sound peppy, but felt like a phony instead. I quickly shifted the focus back on her, “So what did you do in Milan?”  


“A little of this and that…," she said distracted, as she popped her head up to look around. "Hey don’t take this the wrong way, but you look really tired. Like major bags under your eyes,” she immediately stood up and pointed down the aisle, “I’m gonna go sit with Chelsea and that way you can have both seats. You know, spread out and take a nap. We'll catch up at your apartment.”  


“Oh okay, thank you,” I said aloud, but inwardly I pleaded with her to stay, keep me company, and fill the conversation with wonderful distractions. However, she was already gone. And just like that I was alone again.


	4. Apartment

“Here we are… home sweet home,” said Maddy, dramatically waving her arms in the air upon entering the empty lobby.

“Oh, you live here too? That’s wonderful!” I was so relieved. 

“Fuck no, I wouldn’t be caught dead here. I have an apartment with Chelsea in Veronetta. That’s where all the best parties happen. You’ll learn.”

I studied the structure and decided to remain positive, “It actually doesn’t look that bad.”

“Actually, maybe not for you. I can totally see this being your thing. Simple, quiet, plain. Going to get a lot of studying done. But if you ever do get claustrophobic I can hook you up. I have a gig prepping rentals for tourists. Light cleaning, grocery shopping, handing over the key. You can usually get a night before and after to get it ready. Pay is shit, but it’s low key work.”

“That actually sounds really nice, thanks.”

“K, hugs. I gotta go. See you on campus.”

“Wait, Maddy, how do I check in? There is no one here.”

She took a step further in and stretched her neck out to view the back window. "Just as I thought. Smoke break.”

“That shouldn’t take long. What like 15 min?”

“OMG! You are so cute. No, you'll be waiting forever. Just go have a cigarette too. And don’t talk first. Actually, don't talk at all. You don’t want to come across as some needy tourist. Don’t want to piss him off day one, otherwise its going to be a long semester.

 _But I am a needy tourist,_ I thought before responding, “I don’t smoke.”

“No problem. Vape?”

“No.”

“Pot?”

“No.”

“Well Shit, Y/N! Why are you studying in Europe? Was the convent closed? Honestly, your screwed if you keep this up. Hmmm. Screwed… actually that might work too. Go flirt a little,” she winked as she gently spanked my ass in the direction of the door.

“I’m not going to prostitute myself for an apartment I already paid for.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Geez, lighten up. I thought the whole fussy old lady thing was like a shtick, but I guess that’s really you.”

“Its not, but I’m tired and I want to sleep.” I didn’t recall Maddy being this rude back in Colorado. She was moody, sure, but it was always directed at things, not people.

“If you're not going to change at all in Italy, then you are going to be doing a lot of waiting while life passes you by. But seriously, it’s amazing what picking up a vice or two can do for the soul.”

“Uh, corrupt it?”

“Free it! Fuck, you are so uptight. If you really believe that God is looking down on us, don’t you think He would want to be entertained? I would. ” She cleared her throat, “So nice chat I guess but I am running late. This took way longer than I thought it would.”

“I thought we were going to catch up.”

“Soon, I promise. And here, take this and at least think about the person you want to be.”

She handed me a cigarette. I twisted the tiny white tube in my hands, even if I did want to smoke it I had no way to light it. I looked up to hand it back, but she was already on her phone and out the door. No longer able to fight back back exhaustion, I sat in an empty chair with my luggage in front of me. Shoving my puffy coat into a ball, I used it as a pillow as I rested against the top of my suitcase. Within minutes, I was asleep.


	5. Peas in a Pod

A thunderous clap of books hit the counter, startling me out of my slumber. I immediately froze when I realized I was still in unfamiliar surroundings. Worse yet, the lobby was now dark. I stood defensively, carefully peering around the corner to the doorway of the stairwell. There stood a young woman hunched over her bag, her long black hair tied into a side-braid blocking her face from my view.

“Are you alright?” I inquired as I approached. The strangers head shot up instantly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was down here,” she responded in a beautiful British accent as she continued to dig into her bag. “I’ve misplaced my keys.” Instantly, my middle-American manners clicked into gear and I began searching the floor. Catching the glint of something metal by the front door, I inspected further.

“Would this be them?” I asked holding up the missing keys. The woman’s eyes beamed with relief.

“Oh, you are a saint! A literal saint! Thank you,” she said as I handed them over. “I’m Prisha. Prisha Varadkar.”

“Nice to meet you, Prisha. I’m Y/N L/N.”

“Beautiful name. Beautiful. Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around before.” She pushed her thick framed glasses up her nose, making her big brown almond eyes appear larger.

“First day,” I looked down at my watch, “Well, second day. Didn’t realize it was past midnight.”

“Care to walk up with me? Which floor are you on?”

“I don’t know yet. I never checked in. The manager was outside smoking and then – “ I felt myself growing tense again.

“Oh goodness, you're homeless. Can’t have that. You must stay with me tonight. My flatmate has not returned from holiday, so there is plenty of room.”

“Thank you,” Overcome with gratitude, I resisted the urge to hug her. Instead my hands pushed against the lining of my pockets, causing my arms to squeeze against me.

“Lucky for you and that giant mass I can only assume is your luggage, I’m only on the second floor.”

I nodded and went to gather my belongings. Prisha steadily led the way, despite her arms filled with the weight of books. I followed slowly behind as I had to heave my bag up each stair, praying to God that my apartment would also be on the second floor. By the time we reached her door, I could feel myself sweating. It dawned on me that after a full day of travel and half of a night sleeping in a chair, I really needed to bathe.

She opened the door and flicked on the lights. My senses were instantly excited by the smell of spices, and my stomach growled. I guess I needed to eat too.

“It smells wonderful in here,” I took in another deep breath.

“You like Indian cooking?”

“Love it.”

“Ah, then I already like you better than my flatmate. She claims my cooking is ruining her Italian experience. Well _pardon_ me, Willa, but your complete ignorance on how to clean a room is ruining _my_ Italian experience,” said the woman lost in an old argument. “Oh goodness, I’m sorry. Are you hungry?”

“Terribly,” I admitted.

“I may ignore most of the wishes of my mother, but I did learn to be a proper hostess. The bathroom is beyond that door there. If you wish to clean up and have a shower, I will prepare a dish. I’m rather hungry myself."

This moment was the happiest I had been in a long time. I remembered a phrase my professor told me right before leaving _“The friends you make at the worst time of your life, are usually the friends you keep the rest of your life.”_ I held that idea close, as I hoped that this delightful woman would become my friend.

“I think you’re the one that’s the saint,” I responded as she handed me a towel.

“Fortunately, the Pope isn’t far from here. I can give him a ring tomorrow about two saints for consideration. But first, shower, a meal, and a quick conversion to Catholicism. Not too difficult.”

“You’re funny,” I said chuckling.

“Rather, unbecoming of a woman I’m told. However, so is that terrible outfit of yours. Appears we are two peas’ in a pod. Now please, I need to start heating or we will die of starvation. Well maybe not you. By the look of those horrid trousers, I assume you have survival skills. Honestly, how many pockets does one pant need? Now go." She set to work in the kitchen and I closed the door to the bathroom, laughing to myself.

Despite the low pressure and the tepid temperature, this shower earned a spot in my top 10 showers of all time. The thin layer of grime from all the travel, washed down the drain; revealing a new, fresh skin. Skin that was scented by the mouthwatering vanilla shower gel I found on the shelf. It smelled so alluring, I was tempted to lick my own arm from hunger. I joked to myself that cannibalism was one part of Colorado history that I never understood, until now. My aching stomach begged me to leave the shower behind and eat. Pilling my wet hair on top of my head, I quickly dressed in lounge clothes and walked out. 

"Just look at that wet mop on your head! " Prisha declared, "There is a hair dryer in the bathroom you may borrow. Bottom drawer."

I waved my hand, "No need. I usually sleep on it wet."

"Ah! I was right! You can survive in the wild. Well no need tonight... Buon appetite!” Prisha said motioning to the pretty place settings, understandably quite pleased with herself. We sat to share a delicious meal of vegetable sambar and rice. I had to keep telling myself to slow down as I ate. I was ravenous, which made sense, the last bit of sustenance I ate was a granola bar on the train.

“You’re American.” She said in more of a statement than a question. Food in my mouth, I met her eye and nodded. She continued, “You seem different. Not one of those one's only here to party on daddy’s money. I call them butterfly girls. They flit from thing to thing...utterly useless lot but still beautiful as they do it.”

“My parents are helping a little. Most of it is my savings and some loan, but no… not here to party. You?”

“I’m here to party on Mummy’s money, completely different. Much more respectable.”

“Good to know,” I responded with a chuckle.

“No, here to study and perhaps party on occasion. My mother wants me to follow in her business footsteps, I want to write… so we compromised. I’m here in Italy to study business for her. A few classes of writing for me. All before I take on my mantel back home. It’s my last semester before the real world, my last semester as me and not Diya's daughter. Cannot go slow enough.”

“What do you write? If you would like to share, I would be honored to read it.” Despite my fatigued muscles, I pushed myself to keep the conversation going. It was the first connection I had made in ages, the first new person I met who didn't already know my story.

Prisha was surprised and studied my face, “Hmm, no one really asks me that – much less means it. But I believe you are sincere. Curious. Usually, the next question is about my mother. Then I am tasked with telling the breathtaking rise of an immigrant woman from homemaker to CEO. It’s a beautiful story, if I write that one, it would most likely sell a million copies. But damn if I can ever get beyond her shadow.”

“Your wit, your kindness, your culinary abilities… I can’t help but marvel. No shadow seen from this angle,” I admitted as my tired shoulders slumped further down in the chair.

“I think I like you, and not just because you found my keys. Come now weary traveler, your bed is this way,” she ushered me into the free room, “Goodnight new friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to one of my favorite people on the planet. Her friendship has been a source of constant joy and comfort. I am convinced her strength, brilliance, and vanilla scent will forever keep me in awe.


End file.
